


Another Way to Go

by bgharison



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 01:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgharison/pseuds/bgharison
Summary: “Commander McGarrett, I’m sincerely sorry for your loss,” Danny said.  “That’s what I shoulda led with, in the garage.”“Well, you know, drawing your gun and yelling at me was another way to go,” Steve said.A take on the pilot episode which factors in Danny having met John McGarrett and having worked the case until Steve arrived on the scene -- and another way it *could* have gone from there.





	Another Way to Go

Danny ran a hand through his hair and sighed.  John McGarrett’s body had been carefully claimed and taken into the forensics lab.  The house, though, was still a disaster. 

“Let’s look for casings again,” Danny said.

“Danny, whoever did this was a professional.  They policed their brass. We’ve been over the place with a fine tooth comb,” Meka reminded him.  “Twice.”

“We in the universal, HPD ‘we’,” Danny argued.  “Not ‘we’, Danny and Meka ‘we’. We do it again.”

“Now, after you’ve sent the rest of our manpower away for the day?” Meka asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I like the quiet,” Danny said.  “Besides, when I interview the family, I need to be able to look them in the eye and say that I, personally, have gone over every detail of the case.  And I can’t say it if it’s not true. So we look again for casings, for anything.”

“Fair enough,” Meka said.  “You take the study, I’ll take the dining area?”

Danny nodded.  “Yeah. Then we switch and do it again.”

Meka shook his head but smiled at Danny.  “You know, for a haole, you’re taking McGarrett’s death personally.”

“The man gave me a job so I could be near my baby girl,” Danny said.  “From everything I’ve heard in the short time I’ve been with HPD, he was a good man.”

“The best,” Meka agreed, kneeling on the carpet and peering inch-by-inch over the rug.

“And a devoted father,” Danny said.

“That I couldn’t tell you,” Meka answered.  “I never saw his kids once, never heard him speak of them.  I’m not sure what he thought of them, to be honest.”

Danny turned over a framed photo in his gloved hands.  The image of a lanky teenage boy with his arms around a little girl, both of them smiling into the camera, was largely obscured by fingerprint dust.  The picture had been touched hundreds of times -- not just the frame. John McGarrett’s softly blurred fingerprints had traced delicately over the faces of his children, over and over, until just a haze of charcoal remained.  Danny replaced the picture carefully and turned his attention to the frames on the wall. Some were family photos, some certificates and commendations. Many had extra snapshots tucked into the edges of the frames. He was soon lost in thought, his gaze taking in images, knowing that his subconscious would turn them over and over later.  Sometimes it paid off. At the moment, it just made him feel . . . wistful. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought that Chief McGarrett’s children had perished along with his wife.   Danny’s lips pressed into a thin line as he studied the photo and then turned in a slow circle, taking in the chaos of the room.  Blood spatter on the walls, dried on the hardwood floors. Scuff marks from boots -- forensics was still trying to figure out how many.  Scratches from the chair tipping over. 

“Who do we call to have this cleaned?” Danny asked quietly.  “His family will be coming in, right?”

Meka stood up, stretching out his back.  “No brass, for the third time. Yeah, but his son’s got to know this is a crime scene, right?  He’s a commander in the Navy, I’m sure he has no problems getting housing at Pearl. Just leave the tape up.  Forensics will tell us when we can release the scene.”

Danny nodded reluctantly.  It made sense. He looked over the desk again, wondering what, if anything, he was missing.  Wondered if the chief had more recent photos of his family tucked away somewhere else. Maybe in his office at work?  He couldn’t remember offhand. 

Something else for his subconscious to ponder, no doubt.

**********

 

Danny made it to the funeral service after dropping Gracie off at school, but he was among the last to arrive.  That suited him fine. Experience had taught him that distance from a case, from the people surrounding it -- literal and figurative -- could be helpful.  He got out of the car and closed the door just as the first of the gunshot volleys sounded.

 He caught a glimpse of a figure standing tall, in the first row of mourners.  He stood out among the handful of people in civilian clothes, his dress blues crisp on broad shoulders, his white cover a head above almost everyone else.  It wasn’t a stretch for Danny to assume that the figure was the chief’s son, the one in the Navy.. He didn’t flinch at the gunshots, but the petite woman standing next to him did.  All but their shoulders were obscured from Danny’s view, but from the subtle shift, it looked as though the sailor had put a hand on her back, steadying her. The daughter, then, probably.  

 Danny returned to his car and pulled away quietly, unwilling to spend the time making awkward small talk with a police force that barely recognized him, the haole, much less bothered to try to disguise their resentment that he had been assigned to the case.  Besides, he needed to talk to someone about a wire tap. He’d give his respects to the chief and his family by finding his murderer.

 **********

 

Something wasn’t sitting right.  Danny stood, stretched, and then paced around his desk to look at the photos from a different angle.  He picked up the enlarged photo of John McGarrett’s home desk, squinting at the titles of the books and magazines strewn across it.   A catalog . . . something about parts.  Danny turned the photo sideways. Auto parts.  He put the photo down, thoughtfully, and grabbed his gun and badge.

 **********

 

Danny headed for the garage, started to duck under the crime scene tape, when he heard a voice.  

  _I don't trust the people I work with. So I'm gonna have to do this on my own. It's all about the key. I just don't know what it's for. I have only been able to find two source..._

 Danny slipped into the garage.  A click, and the recording stopped as a man whirled on him, drawing a weapon.

 “You! Hands up! Don't move!” Danny yelled. “Who are you?” 

 “Who are you?”  the man demanded, his gun trained on Danny. 

 “I am Detective Danny Williams... “

 "Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett!”

 They were shouting over each other.

 “This is my father's house,” the man said, his gun not wavering in the slightest.. 

 “Put your weapon down right now,” Danny insisted.. 

 “Show me your I.D.!” 

 “You show me your I.D.! Right now!” 

 They were shouting over each other again, useless, but if this guy thought for one minute that Danny was going to back down, he had another thought coming.

 “I'm not putting my gun down,” Danny informed him.

 “Neither am I.” 

 “Use your free hand, take out your I.D.,”  Danny said firmly. 

 “Please, after you,” the stranger said.  Danny thought he caught a glimpse of a smirk.

 “At the same time?” 

 “At the same time?”

 They were talking over each other, now, in sync, in unison.  Danny’s hindbrain grinned a little.

 “Yeah, at the same time,” Danny said.. 

 “What, like, on the count of three?”  There was a smirk, now, Danny was sure of it. 

 “Sure. Okay, three's good,” Danny said.  No sense antagonizing the man further. “One... two... three.”

 Even in the dim light, Danny could make out the credentials that were smartly snapped open for his perusal.  Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett, United States Navy.

 “Listen, uh, I'm really sorry about your father, but you can't be here right now,” Danny said.  He holstered his gun. “This is an active crime scene.” 

 “Doesn't seem that active,” Steve retorted.  Danny thought that there might have been a hint of recrimination in the statement.. 

 “I can't share any information with you,”  Danny said. He bit off the rest of his rehearsed response, the one meant to calm and mollify families of victims.  He had a feeling it wouldn’t go over well, and this guy wasn’t a typical civilian. Not by a long shot, not according to the bits and pieces Danny had been able to research the night before -- the bits and pieces that weren’t obviously redacted and classified.

 “Hesse wasn't here alone when my father was murdered. Someone was sitting at the desk in the study-- there was a space clear for a 13-inch laptop and my father hated computers,” Steve said calmly. 

 Danny refused to be baited.  “I'm gonna ask you again-- you got to leave.”

 “You got it,” Steve said, shrugging, as he picked up the toolbox.. 

 Danny sighed.  Did this guy take him for some amateur?  “And you can leave the box-- that is evidence. You know that.” 

 “I came with this,” Steve said. 

 Unbe-fucking-lievable.  “No, you didn't come with it. I see the dust void it left right here on the counter-- what's in the box?”  Danny demanded. 

 “How long you been with the Honolulu PD?”   

 So he did think he was an amateur.  “None of your business. What are you, Barbara Walters?” 

 “No, it is my business if you're investigating my father's death.”

 Danny took a steadying breath.  He may not be a typical civilian, or hell, even a typical son, but he had lost a father.  

 “I am, and I'd like to get back to that, so the sooner you leave, the sooner I can,” Danny said.  He was using his calm voice. 

 “Anything you say.” 

 And there was that damn smirk again, and fuck the calm voice.

 “Leave the box or get arrested, all right?”  Danny demanded. 

 “You gonna call for backup?”  

 “An ambulance.”  Two could do smug, thank-you-very-much. 

 He tilted his head just slightly, not bothering to disguise his assessment of Danny.  Danny resisted the urge to draw himself up taller. Steve’s eyes rested briefly on Danny’s tie and he quirked an eyebrow as he placed the toolbox back on the bench.

 “Thank you,” Danny said tersely. 

 “Don't thank me yet.” 

 “What are you doing?”  Danny watched as Steve pulled out his cell phone, tossing another smirk in his direction. 

 “Uh, yeah, Governor Jameson, please? Tell her it's Steve McGarrett.” 

 “Oh, please,” Danny muttered. 

  _Commander, Governor Jameson here. What can I do for you?_

 “Fucking kidding me,” Danny mumbled.

 Steve’s smirk had settled into a ghost of a smile, making eye contact with Danny as he spoke into the phone.  “Governor, I'll take the job.” A pause. “Well, let's just say I found something that changed my mind. No, no, no, immediately. I'll transfer to the reserves, and I'll run your task force. Wha... What, right now? Okay. I, Steven J. McGarrett, do solemnly declare upon my honor and conscience that I will act at all times to the best of my ability and knowledge in a manner befitting an officer of the law. Thank you, Governor.”  He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Now it's my crime scene.”

 **********

 

“So, we’re not going to let Chin or Kono pick the name, right?” Danny asked, as Chin and Kono left the conference room.  “I mean, clearly, they are fine officers but . . . unpronounceable Hawaiian blessings or Strike Force?”

 “I’m thinking not,” Steve said.  He winced as he reached to grab a couple of empties.

 “Would you -- just stop, let me,” Danny said.  Steve held up his good hand in surrender and grabbed an empty pizza box instead.

 “Thanks again, for the room and everything, for Gracie and me,” Danny said.  “Seriously, that’s above and beyond and . . . thank you.”

 “You’re welcome,” Steve said, shrugging.  “It’s gotta be hard, on both of you, right?  At least this weekend she won’t have to live in that death trap you call an apartment.”

 Danny let it slide.  “Speaking of accommodations . . . Meka figured you’d be staying at the base, yeah?”

 “Forensics says the house is clear,” Steve said.  His boots suddenly appeared to be very interesting.

 “You, ah, gonna call a crew, something, to clean it up?” Danny asked.  He fidgeted with the label on the empty beer bottle.

 “Nothing I can’t do myself,” Steve said.  

 “Steve, you -- I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Danny said hesitantly.  He had the sense of lines, so many lines, and boundaries, and walls . . . Steve’s changeable eyes -- ok, he’d noticed, he was a detective, and eyes that shifted color were a notable physical feature -- were shuttered.  “You’ve seen the crime -- you’ve been inside. You noticed the void on the desk.”

 “Yeah.”

 “So, you . . .”

 “So, I know my father’s blood and brain matter are spattered on the walls and floor.”

 Danny rubbed a hand over his eyes.  The scene would haunt him; he couldn’t imagine what it was doing to Steve.  To -- “Please, for the love of God, tell me you didn’t let your sister go in there.”

 Steve’s head shot up, then, and for a moment his gaze was unguarded.  Danny felt his heart clench at the glimpse of raw anguish.

 “Of course not, Danny,” Steve said.  “I would never -- Jesus Christ. She’s been through enough.”

 “So have you.  Call a crew. Stay at my death-trap apartment tonight.”  Danny cringed inwardly. Probably not professional. “Or, you know, at the base.”

 Steve put the last of the paper plates and napkins in the trashcan, pulled up the drawstring one-handed.  His back was still toward Danny when he spoke.

 “It’s something I need to do myself,” he said quietly.  “I can’t -- I don’t know how to explain why. I need to do it myself.”

 “Umkay,” Danny said.  “You need to do it yourself, I respect that.  I won’t push.”

 Steve turned to him then, a half smile on his face.  “You? Not push? That’s a first.”

 “I am a man of many surprises,” Danny said.  

 **********

Danny shook his head and grinned at the sight of the oversized Silverado in the driveway.  McGarrett didn’t waste time settling in. The truck was . . . exactly what Danny would have expected.  The color was mildly surprising. He would have thought black. Though, in the inferno that was Oahu, maybe not.

 He walked onto the porch as he’d done dozens of times since he’d been assigned the case.  He caught himself just before he walked through the door, tucked a parcel under one arm and rang the bell.

 The door opened, Steve filling the frame, his good arm propping him up as he smiled down at Danny.  

 “What happened to respecting that I needed to do this myself, and not pushing?” he asked.

 “I do, in fact, respect that you need to do this yourself,” Danny said. “Didn’t say I thought you needed to do it alone.”

 “Your arm’s hurt, though,” Steve said, nodding toward Danny’s bicep, the bandage visible beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt.

 “So’s yours,” Danny said.  

 “Okay, as exhilarating as it was, I can’t do the garage scene over again,” Steve said.  “I’m too fucking tired. Come in, then, if you must.”

 “Wow, that’s Army hospitality,” Danny said.  

 “Navy,” Steve said.  “I’m in the Navy. Danno.”

 “Don’t start,” Danny said.  “I won’t share the beer.” He pulled the brown grocery bag out and offered it to Steve.

 “Heavy duty shop rags, enzymatic cleaner, and Longboards?”

 “I had not tried Longboards until today,” Danny said.  “As beer goes, it’s not terrible.”

 Steve grinned.  “It’s Hawaiian. You like it?”

 “I just said it’s not terrible, and I bought a six pack,” Danny said, his hands gesturing.  “I hope this is not indicative of your analytical skills, Steven.”

 Steve stepped into his personal space, a habit Danny already loved and hated in equal measure.

 “My analytical skills are superior,” Steve said.  Danny was starting to think that smug was going to be more the rule than the exception.

 “Superior to whose?” Danny challenged.

 Steve blinked.  “Um, superior rating.  I earned a superior rating in Naval Intelligence.”

 Something in his tone brought Danny up short.  Steve shuffled his feet slightly, glanced at his father’s desk.

 “I bet your father was proud,” Danny said softly.  “Very proud.”

 “I don’t think I ever told him,” Steve said.  “Don’t think it ever came up.”

 “He would have been proud,” Danny repeated.  “Any father would have been.”

 Steve nodded and swallowed hard.  Danny forced his eyes away from the long line of Steve’s throat.  

 “I appreciate it, Danny, I do, but you really don’t need to help with this,” Steve said.  

 “See, here’s the thing.  You barged in, made me your partner.  I’m not the kinda guy who lets a partner clean up after a loved one’s murder.  You maybe didn’t take the time to read the manual, but there you go.”

 “Are you always this stubborn?” Steve asked.  He helped himself to one of the Longboards, wrapping the bottle cap in the hem of his t-shirt and wrenching it off.  Danny caught a flash of bronzed, toned abs and his hindbrain flat out chuckled.

 “Always.  But you knew that.”

 Steve nodded slowly, his face unreadable.  “Yeah. Well, if pulling your gun on me hadn’t convinced me, that right hook would have.”

 “So, ah, how -- what part of the cleaning is done?  Where do you want me to start?” Danny asked.

 “Someone was thorough with fingerprinting,” Steve said, jerking his head at the desk.  “You can start in there.”

 “You sure?  You don’t want me to clean the, um, the central area, there?”

 “No, Danny,” Steve said softly.  “Thank you but . . . no.”

 “‘Kay.  Lemme know if you wanna trade off,” Danny said.

 Steve nodded, averting his eyes again.  Danny found paper towels and spray cleaner already on the desk and worked quietly, keeping his back mostly to Steve to give him a semblance of privacy as he returned to his gruesome task.  They worked in silence for a while. Danny had settled into a rhythm of spraying a piece of toweling, cleaning, polishing, moving on to the next section. 

 “Fuck it,” Steve muttered.  Danny turned in time to see him ball up a rag and throw it forcefully to the floor before his long stride carried him out of the room.  The back door opened and slammed shut.

 Danny sighed and surveyed the familiar spot where they’d found McGarrett’s body.  Almost all traces of the blood were gone. He picked up a clean rag and dampened it with cleaner, giving the wall and then the floor a final wipe-down.  The wall, he thought, should be repainted -- hell, the whole house should be repainted, for starters. He gathered the rags and tossed them in the trash, pulling off his gloves and dropping them in after.

 Taking a deep breath, he stepped out the back door onto the lanai.  This area of the house was less familiar.   The moonlight allowed him to easily make out Steve’s tall frame, standing behind some chairs at the edge of the lawn.  He slipped off his shoes and left them by the back door and walked slowly toward his new partner.

 “I’m fine, Danny, go on home,” Steve said.

 “I’ve had a few beers, probably shouldn’t drive,” Danny said.  

 “I’ll make up the bed in Mary’s room for you,” Steve said.  He turned and started to brush by Danny.

 “Steve,” Danny said, wrapping his hand around Steve’s uninjured bicep.  His fingers didn’t even come close to encompassing the muscle.

 Steve stopped, looked away from Danny.  His breath was starting to become ragged.  Danny felt the muscle beneath his hand coil with tension.

 “Danny, I don’t --  I can’t --” 

 “Commander McGarrett, I’m sincerely sorry for your loss,” Danny said.  “That’s what I shoulda led with, in the garage.”

 “Well, you know, drawing your gun and yelling at me was another way to go,” Steve said.

 “I’m sorry about your dad,” Danny said softly.  “I only met him a few times. I didn’t know him well.”

 “Apparently I didn’t know him at all,” Steve said.  

 Danny squeezed his arm gently.  “Maybe we’ll figure some things out together.  About your dad, about what he was trying to tell you.”

 “Yeah,” Steve said.  His shoulders sagged.

 “I’m gonna go in, make us some coffee, yeah?” Danny said.  

 Steve nodded gratefully.  “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse.  “I’ll be up in a minute.”

 Danny let his hand drift up to cup Steve’s cheek, his thumb tracing lightly across the bruised cheekbone, his fingers curling under Steve’s jaw as if he’d done it a thousand times.  He withdrew his hand quickly at Steve’s sharp intake of breath, and cursed at himself all the way back to the house.

 

**********

Danny was sitting at the kitchen counter with his hands wrapped around a mug of decaf when Steve slipped soundlessly through the back door and into the kitchen.

 Steve poured a mug of coffee and sat down next to Danny, their knees and shoulders almost touching.

 “Thank you,” Steve said quietly.  “For coming over tonight.”

 “About the --”  Danny halted. He’d crossed a line, he was pretty sure of it, and didn’t know how to apologize.

 “You said you were a man of many surprises,” Steve said slowly.  He reached over and traced one long finger carefully over Danny’s wrist.  Danny failed to repress a shiver at the touch, and it was Steve’s turn to pull his hand away quickly.  

 “I was out of line, I . . . I am truly sorry for your loss and I . . . should have expressed that more appropriately  --”

 “I’m in the Navy,” Steve blurted.  

 “I wasn’t trying to --”

 “There’s going to be a repeal.”

 Danny looked at Steve, confused.

 “DADT.  Scuttlebutt is, it’s going to be repealed.  Soon,” Steve said. “You have a wife and daughter.”

 “Ex-wife,” Danny replied automatically.  “Steve, I -- you’re grieving and I didn’t mean to --”

“I’m not.  Grieving. I should be.  I should feel . . . something.  I haven’t -- I haven’t felt anything but anger and I thought that putting a bullet in Victor would -- but it . . . “ Steve trailed off, shook his head in frustration.  He turned and faced Danny, swallowed hard. “Your hand on my face is the first thing I’ve felt since I left -- since I took Anton Hesse into custody. And I don’t understand it but all I can think is that I want to feel more, I want to --”

Before Danny could fully process what was happening, Steve’s uninjured hand was wrapped around his neck, and Steve’s lips were brushing against his, gently, tentatively.  They separated reluctantly, after few soft, careful kisses.

Danny cupped his hand around Steve’s battered face again, his thumb brushing over the split in Steve’s lip, the bruise on Steve’s jaw, the one he knew was from his punch, not Victor’s.

“I’m really sorry,” Danny said.  “For punching you in the face.”

Steve laughed softly.  “Acceptance is pending, Danno.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm learning my way around [tumblr ](https://bgharison.tumblr.com/) , come say hello!


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